


When the Dead Rise

by SilenceIsGolden15



Series: When the Dead Walk the Earth [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Gen, Guns, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Prequel, Violence, this is gory kids mind the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 04:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15622077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceIsGolden15/pseuds/SilenceIsGolden15
Summary: The beginning of the outbreak was terrible and bloody. Few were spared, and none escaped unscathed.





	When the Dead Rise

**Author's Note:**

> Hi yes hello this was written before the names from Lance's family came out so the names are different thanks.

October 9th was, for the most part, a normal day. It was a little cloudy and overcast, the wind was a little chilly, but that was nothing new in the fall. The local high school got out at 2:29 pm, just like it always did, and the children flooded from it’s halls and scattered to the streets, just like they always did; racing to get home to their homework and siblings and other responsibilities. 

A particular group of three always walked to the Main Street light together and today was no exception. They walked side by side, spread across the sidewalk, always in a somewhat amusing ascending order by height. The short girl on the left, the taller lanky boy in the middle, and the brawny tallest one on the right. They laughed and talked as they went-- typical teenage business, what homework they had, which teachers really should lay off, which houses Halloween decorations were better. 

They split at Main street, the girl going left, the brawny boy going right, and the lanky one crossing the road and continuing straight on. Behind them a lone boy barely missed the light and had to wait for the next one, scuffing his boots against the ground and hunching his shoulders to protect from the wind as best he could. 

None of them could have known what awaited them in their houses. If they had, maybe they never would have gone home.

 

* * *

**Pidge**

 

Pidge was surprised, but not unhappy, to see both of her parents cars parked in the driveway when she reached her house. They didn’t often get home early, and it was even rarer for them to both get off early on the same day. Was something special going on?

_ Is it a holiday? No, that can’t be it. All of our birthdays are in the beginning of the year. Maybe they just want to spend some time together? _

She brightened a bit at the thought, but then immediately wilted. No, they wouldn’t do something like that unless Matt was there and he didn’t have leave for another two months. It was probably just a coincidence. Still, they could have dinner together, maybe watch a movie. Even without her older brother, that could be fun, right?

She fumbled with her key a little, as she usually did, but before she could get it properly in the lock she heard it turn from inside, and the door was yanked open.

Her key clattered to the ground, pinging dully off the rubber of the welcome mat as Pidge stared up at her father’s face. 

“Uh, dad? You alright?” He looked pale. And his eyes were wide. Jaw clenched. Overall he just looked freaked out, which was not an expression she was familiar with coming from him.

“Katie. Thank god.” he said in a breathy voice before clamping a hand on her shoulder and yanking her into the house. 

Pidge felt her breath catch at the use of her name. They never called her Katie, not unless she was in trouble. But he didn’t look angry, and he wasn’t saying anything to her, just dragging her towards the kitchen. 

Her mother was there, looking frazzled and scared as she threw food into a duffle bag. She felt unease coiling in her stomach. 

“Dad? What’s going on? Are we going somewhere?”

Her father didn’t answer her. He just pulled her against his chest and ran his fingers through her long hair. She hugged him back out of habit and the texture of his shirt against her cheek calmed her ever so slightly. But only slightly. 

“You’re scaring me.” she mumbled. “What’s happening?”

“Take your books out of your backpack, sweetie.” her mother said from her left, dragging her attention away from her father. As Pidge watched her mother brushed strands of her hair out of her eyes and zipped the duffle bag shut. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, but she seemed to be holding herself together well enough. 

“What? Why?”

“Do as I say, and go upstairs and pack some clothes. Practical ones please. No dresses. Remember a jacket and your toothbrush.”

“Mom-”

“Go on, Katie.” said her father, cutting her off with a small, tense smile. “Do as your mother says.”

Pidge, with no other options left to her, did as she was told. 

When she returned downstairs a few minutes later, her mother and father were huddled in the kitchen, discussing something in low tones. They both carried several bags, and there was a lump under her fathers sweater. She stared at it blankly for a moment, and then it clicked and she felt her entire body go cold.

That was his pistol. He’d opened up the gun safe that he hadn’t touched once, not in her entire life. 

It took her a moment to realize she was shaking.

Her mother saw her then and approached, taking her hand in one of her soft ones and tugging her towards the front door. Pidge stumbled, her limbs feeling far away and beyond her control. 

“Why does dad have his gun?” she whispered, very aware of the man in question just behind her. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” her mom replied. She’d never used this many pet names so close together before. “Get in the car.”

Pidge couldn’t find the breath to speak again until the car was rolling down the street, the air tense and silent inside. 

“Where are we going?” she asked in a small voice. 

“Just give us a moment, dear.” said her mother. “Your father will explain everything on the way.”

_ On the way where? _

Pidge didn’t say anything else. 

 

* * *

**Lance**

 

He whistled as he walked. 

Fall wasn’t his favorite season; he preferred summer, when he could swim and spend hours outside in the sun. But fall wasn’t too bad. Not as cold as winter, not as much rain as spring. Not that he didn’t like the rain, but he liked the orange leaves more. Liked the crunch when he stepped on one just the right way. 

He looked up at his house and smiled. 

He’d spent the whole last weekend helping his little brother decorate the house for Halloween, his favorite holiday. The entire front porch was smothered in cotton cobwebs, big fluffy glitter-doused spiders perched on the railing and over the door. The yard was dotted with cardboard gravestones they’d painted together in the garage, scribbled with childish epitaphs Javi had come up with himself. They hadn’t carved their pumpkins yet, but there was a special space for them under the living room window. Overall, he’d give it a 5 on the spooky scale. 

He pushed through the front door, carefully hanging up his jacket in the coat closet and kicking off his shoes, knowing his mother would be irritated if he left them in the living room. 

“Mam á! I’m home!”

He waited for the usual boisterous greeting, but none came. In fact, the whole house was quiet. The house was  _ never  _ quiet. Never. Especially not when his older sister was supposed to be home for fall break. 

He frowned.

Then he heard something. Or at least, he thought he did. There was a slight rustle, a little squick sound, and Lance wrinkled his nose.

_ What the hell could be making that noise? _

He stepped cautiously out of the entryway and into the living room, peering around for signs of his family. There was no one in the room, but the weird squishing sounds had gotten louder, coming from the kitchen. 

_ Is the fridge leaking or something? _

He went to check.

And immediately froze. 

Nothing about the scene before him made sense, and his brain scrambled for something to lock onto. After a moment it chose red. The color red-- it was everywhere, covered the floor, smeared across brown hands and faces, a well of it in his mother’s torso where she lay, decorated the back of the counter in a splatter. 

The next detail to pierce the fog was the gun clenched in his mothers hand. Gun plus blood splatter: two plus two equals swallowing a bullet. 

Next was faces. His mother’s, mouth opened in a scream, eyes glassy. One of the three figures kneeling over her torn open stomach raised its head and her eyes were just as glassy, her mouth smeared with red and somehow tinged orange in the corners. 

“T-tess?” his voice came out wrecked and shaky. His sister didn’t answer, not in words. She snarled gutterally at him and the other two looked up. Angie and Javi, his little siblings, baring their blood-stained teeth that had been chewing flesh between them just a moment before. He could just barely make out the orange under the red.

The floor roiled beneath his feet. His stomach heaved and nothing came up. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stare.

Javi’s favorite stuffed monkey lay in the blood pool, soaking up the red and slowly turning purple and brown as it did so. 

Tess staggered to her feet. Her movements were clumsy, stiff, not right. Angie let out a low, creaking moan. He looked at his little brother and Javi looked at him and snapped his teeth with a sharp  _ clack _ .

Lance ran. 

He turned and he ran for his life, not even remembering to grab his jacket or his shoes as he bolted from the house. He ran faster than he ever had before and he could still hear their feet on the pavement behind, giving chase. His heart thumped against his ribs.

_ Angie is athletic, Tess is in track, they can catch me, they’re gonna catch me-- _

He didn’t know where he was going. He hung a hard left, feeling the skin of his bare feet tear against the sidewalk. A right, another right, a left. He leapt over fences, cut across yards, anything he could to just get  _ away _ .

Finally his legs went out from under him and he crumbled to the ground, thankfully in the grass of someone’s front lawn, a painful stitch in his side and gasping like a fish. When he raised his head the street was empty, no sound but the wind and his panicked heartbeat. 

He was alone.

 

* * *

**Hunk**

 

Something wasn’t right. Something was very much not right at this moment and whatever it was Hunk did not like it not one bit nope not at all. Because when he stepped inside his house his Mom was standing stock still in the middle of the living room, not moving, just staring. Her red hair was tangled and sticking up in every direction like she’d been in a hurricane, but now she wasn’t moving, and his Mom was never still. She was always rushing around, doing this or that or bouncing a leg or fluttering her fingers. 

But now she wasn’t.

“Mom? Are you ok?”

Her head jerked around to look at him, and his stomach twisted. Her eyes were so empty, so blank, and her jaw hung open. Orange tinted the corners of her lips. 

_ Was she eating Cheetos? _

A bang from down the hall made him jump and attracted his attention. His Mama had crashed against the wall as she came towards him. Her eyes were the same as his Mom’s, mouth slack and orange just like hers. He didn’t like the face she was making-- were they playing a joke on him? But they wouldn’t do that, they knew how his anxiety was, they wouldn’t scare him on purpose, would they?

Mama took a stiff step forward, and he stepped back towards the stairs. Mom copied her and then they were both advancing, pressing him back further and further until his heel hit the bottom step and he fell.

“This isn’t funny.” he tried, voice trembling. The two women didn’t answer, just kept coming closer, slowly and steadily like prowling jaguars. Jaguars with no grace. Jaguars with arthritis. 

He could feel tears stinging at his eyes. He didn’t like this it wasn’t funny they’d never done anything like this before what was happening was something actually wrong with them?

Then his Mom snapped her teeth like an alligator and pounced for him and Hunk let out a shrill scream and scrambled up the stairs as fast as he could go. 

He slammed into his bedroom and locked the door behind him, scampering away from it to hide in the corner. The panic attack was in full force now and all he could do was curl into a ball and try not to hyperventilate himself into blacking out. Something thumped against his door and every cell in his body jumped. The sound came again and then repeated, coming in pairs as his mothers took turns throwing their bodies against the wood like birds who couldn’t understand glass windows.

_ Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump _

“It’s not funny.” he whimpered. “It’s not funny.”

No one could hear him. 

“Hunk!” He jumped again from the voice yelling his name. It was coming from outside his window, and it wasn’t one of his mothers, it was male. He knew that voice. 

“Lance?” he responded, barely daring to raise his voice as he crept to the window. “Is that you?” Barely peeking over the edge of the windowsill, he caught sight of his best friend standing in his lawn. He was barefoot, pale and shivering, a terrified look on his face softening ever so slightly when he saw Hunk. 

“Buddy! Oh my god you have no idea-- are you alright?”

Hunk shook his head and trembled when he heard the door hinges creak. 

“No, I’m not, I’m stuck, I can’t get out, Lance what’s going on--”

Lance seemed to understand the situation immediately, even when Hunk himself hadn’t fully comprehended it. His expression turned determined. 

“Ok, Hunk, I’m gonna come in and distract them, you climb out your window.”

“What?” Hunk squeaked. “Lance I’m on the second story, I can’t just--”

“Hang from your window and then drop!” Lance called to him. “It won’t be that bad!”

“Lance--”

“Just do it!”

And then he was gone, rushing towards the front door. A second later Hunk heard his voice carrying up the stairs. 

“Hey, you! Yeah, you! Fresh meat, right here! Come and get me!”

The thumping stopped. Hunk took a deep breath. He was terrified to do what Lance had told him, but he was more terrified to stay in this room, so he forced himself to act.

The landing jarred all of his bones and made his ankles ache, but it didn’t hurt, so he guessed nothing was broken or sprained. Before he could even collect himself Lance was there, grabbing onto his arm and dragging him along as they took off running.

“Where… are we… going?” Hunk puffed to him. Lance was dead focused, heading somewhere. 

“School!” he answered, also out of breath. “Everything was fine there before, it should be safer, I hope.”

Those words rang in his head.

_ I hope, I hope, I hope.  _

 

* * *

**Keith**

 

He no longer paused to listen when he returned to the house. The habit had served him well in previous foster homes, but after four years here he’d learned he didn’t have to. His parents wouldn’t be waiting just around the corner to ambush him with harsh words or striking hands. At least, they never had before. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew things could change at a moments notice, that people could do complete 180’s. But with the Shirogane’s, after so long, he’d let his guard down.

He shouldn’t have.

The moment he stepped over the threshold he was being rushed. Mr. Shirogane crashed into his side, taking him by surprise and taking them both to the floor. Keith immediately shoved him off (the elderly Japanese man was by no means a weighty opponent) and scrambled to his feet. His fight or flight instinct from so many years of this exact situation took over and his body moved without him thinking about it, sprinting down the hall towards the back door. The first step was to get out of the house. With his body on autopilot, his mind had time for one blurry thought.

_ What did I do wrong? _

He didn’t make it to the sliding door, because he had to pass the kitchen, and his adopted mother was waiting for him there. She let out an unholy shriek and clutched at him, snagging his jacket with her fingernails and hauling him close with a strength he didn’t know she possessed. Her teeth snapped at him, barely missed his nose, and he grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her to the side. 

That was new. Over the years he’d been slapped, punched, thrown against walls, choked, and hit with a variety of objects, but none of his foster parents had ever tried to  _ bite  _ him before.

But he had bigger problems. She was in front of the door now, and her husband was advancing from the hall at his back. He was penned in. 

Ok, plan B, self defense.

Darting into the kitchen, he snatched a kitchen knife from the knife block and spun to face them. His hand shook when he held it out in front of him. His emotions were starting to catch up with the rest of him-- he could feel it aching in his chest. He noticed the blank looks and the orange teeth, but his brain couldn’t comprehend those facts. All he could think at the moment was  _ why is this happening again?  _ What had he done this time to ruin everything? 

Then he thought  _ Shiro is going to be so upset.  _

“Stay back!” he ordered, though it sounded weak. They didn’t even pause at his words. They weren’t even looking at him, not really, they were looking through him, like they didn’t recognize him. But still they were a threat, they were trying to hurt him, and he was being backed into the corner of the kitchen. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” he tried. His father (he thought of him that way, though he’d never called him that to his face) lunged for him and his fingernails dug into Keith’s throat and left gouges. Keith let out of yell of shock and pain and before he could even think about what he was doing he’d brought the knife in and stabbed him in the side. 

His nails dug in deeper, pulled him in closer. 

_ He isn’t stopping. Why isn’t he stopping.  _

She was there too, pulling him in the other direction, like he was the rope in a game of tug-of-war. 

Panic swallowed him up.

 

* * *

**Shiro**

 

_ God, that drive never gets any shorter.  _

Shiro glanced at his watch as he retrieved his bag from the trunk of his car-- 4:30 pm, on the dot. He’d been driving for most of the day, but the upside was that his brother should be home from school by now. 

The house was quiet when he stepped in, but that wasn’t anything unusual. His parents were fairly reserved and so was Keith. A quiet house was normal. 

But something was off, something he had to pause and think for a moment to decipher. There was something in the air, something thick and cloying, smelled like copper…

He wandered down the hall towards the kitchen, curious as to what that smell was. He emerged from the hallway, glanced into the living room, and finding it empty turned towards the kitchen. 

And had to grab onto the wall to keep from collapsing.

Blood blood blood. Blood everywhere. The bodies of his parents were sprawled across the tile, red pooling from the numerous wounds that tore clothes and flesh alike. Their eyes were still open, rolled back and glassy, jaws gaping and teeth tinged with orange. 

“What…”

Movement in the corner drew his eye. For a moment he just stared, his brain taking a long moment to register the details. A mop of black hair. Pale skin. More blood. A hand clutching a stained kitchen knife. Then it hit him like a bolt of lightning, and he felt the shift when his military training kicked in. 

Compartmentalize. Separate. Act. Something had happened and his parents were dead-- he couldn’t help them now. But his little brother was here and alive and possibly hurt. 

_ Pull it together, Takashi. _

He approached, his Garrison issue dress shoes slipping slightly in the blood on the floor, and knelt down. His brother recoiled from him, curled up ever tighter, never releasing his hold on his weapon.

“Keith.” his voice came out choked, and he had to clear it and try again. “Keith, hey, it’s me.”

Scared indigo eyes flicked up at him. “Shiro?”

“Hey, hey. Did someone break in? Are they still here?” Shiro glanced around, narrowing his eyes at the shadowed corners of the room. Keith’s fingers grasping at his shoulder pulled his attention back. He still hadn’t let go of the knife. 

“Shiro-- Shiro--” Keith’s voice was thick, almost indecipherable. He was panicked. Who knew how long he’d been here like this? He was finally looking up and Shiro felt swear words building up behind his lips. There were gashes on his neck-- someone had torn through the skin with their fingernails and left parallel red stripes. 

Shiro opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to say it was ok, tell Keith everything would be ok, but he couldn’t force himself to say it. So instead he asked a question.

“Keith, what happened? Can you tell me what happened?” He reached out to pull Keith closer to him, but his brother flinched away, pressed himself further into the corner, and Shiro felt his heart break.

“I’m sorry.” he choked out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. They wouldn’t stop. I didn’t mean to.”

He kept saying that, over and over.  _ I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to. _

A horrible thought snaked its way across Shiro’s brain, and he couldn’t push it away in time. But he didn’t have time to think about that right now. He needed to call somebody, find out what happened, take Keith to a hospital.

“Listen to me. Here’s what we’re gonna do--”

He was interrupted by a dull thump, and he glanced behind him with a furrowed brow. To his utter confusion someone was in their backyard. The man was covered in dirt and his clothing was torn, which Shiro got a good look at when he lurched his body against the glass door again, a little harder, more insistent. 

He opened his mouth, and his tongue was orange.

“What the hell…”

The man stumbled stiffly back and Shiro had to scramble away when he ran at the door and shattered right through it. 

Glass rained down onto the floor as the man crawled to his feet. Shiro stared in astonishment at the man’s slack expression, and before he could react the man was upon him, snapping and snarling like a rabid dog. He gagged on his disgusting breath, barely holding him back with an arm across his chest. He was on his back on the floor, could feel the cold blood soaking into his crisp Garrison shirt. The man bore down, his teeth grazed Shiro’s cheek as he struggled to strain away-- and then Keith was there. 

His brother hauled the man off of him by his shirt, threw him to the floor. Shiro gasped in air, pulled himself up, prepared to help hold down the intruder. But that wasn’t what Keith had in mind.

He still had his knife. He straddled the man, not even caring when he tore his jacket at the shoulder, and before Shiro could stop him he drove the knife right into the man’s skull.

He let out a horrible, awful shriek; it didn’t even sound human and sent chills through Shiro’s entire body. Then he went limp.

“K-keith.” he stammered, unable to really comprehend what he’d just seen. “What… why did you…”

“You have to.” Keith answered, limply pulling himself off of the corpse. “In the head. Or they won’t stop.”

Something was wrong. That realization came over him, fit him like a second skin. Something was wrong, very wrong, and he had to get himself and Keith out of dodge. The instinct to flee punched hard in his chest and there was too much shock in his system to fight it. 

He made himself move. He took hold of Keith’s shoulder, gently pried the knife from his hands. This time Keith lets him. Then he speaks in his commander voice, with only the slightest edge of softness.

“Keith, I need you to go to your room and pack some clothes. Get your knife, and then go to my room and get clothes for me, too. Can you do that?”

Keith nods automatically, mechanically, and Shiro notices the scratches again and his throat closes up. 

“Alright, go.”

He packed them into his car and takes them out of town. He kept his eyes open as they drove, noticing the figures shambling on the roads and the sidewalks with orange jaws. 

Shiro got on the highway and drove until the sun went down and they were far away from the town. He didn’t want to put on the headlights, didn’t want to call attention to them, so when it was too dark to see anymore he pulled over.

Keith had sat silently this entire time. He had his knees pulled to his chest, coiled into a ball in the passenger seat. He kept his face hidden, but Shiro could still see the claw marks on his throat out of the corner of his eye. 

He understood then what had happened, but he refused to think about it. He couldn’t lose focus, not now. 

“Keith.” he said so softly it barely stirred the air. “Will you move to the back for me? I need to look at your neck.” He’d remembered the first aid kit, thankfully.

Keith did as he was told without a word and Shiro followed him to the backseat, locking the doors behind them. He produced an alcohol wipe from the kit and leaned in to clean the gashes, and a tear dripped down Keith’s cheek and off his chin. 

“I’m sorry.” he said, voice cracking awfully.

“Shhh.” was all Shiro said. For the second time he found himself incapable of saying the words ‘it’s ok’. Because it wasn’t. His parents were dead and Keith killed them. The words caught in his throat.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Shiro frowned, not sure what he meant, and dragged the little white square over the shallow wounds. Keith didn’t flinch at the sting. 

“I didn’t get in any fights. I have good grades. I wasn’t loud. I was trying so hard not to… not to make them…”

Then he realized what Keith was talking about and there aren’t words for how much it hurt.

“No, Keith, no. That’s not what happened.” he set the wipe aside and put his hand on the back of his brother’s neck, making him meet his eyes. He was still crying.

“Did you see that orange stuff? I kept seeing it on people on our way out. I think they were sick… or something. They weren’t in their right minds.” He couldn’t say it was ok, but he could say something just as important. “It’s not your fault.”

Keith didn’t answer; just kept crying silently. Shiro finished bandaging him and let him lean on his shoulder. 

He waited for Keith to fall asleep before he let himself break.

 

* * *

**Pidge**

 

She kept meticulous track of the days. It was the only thing she had, the only bit of normalcy she had left. It was how she knew it was exactly one week after they left home that her father shot someone.

The woman had approached them, begging for help. Her father had looked at her, looked at the bite mark on her arm, and shot her in the head. 

Four days after that one of those  _ things _ grabbed her by her long hair and pulled so hard she thought it’d scalp her. That night her mother had cut her hair to her ears while she tried to hold in the sobs. 

And it was three weeks and two days later, November 1st, when her father got bitten.

The three Holts were huddled behind a dumpster in a vain attempt to block the cold wind. Four infected corpses lay on the pavement around them, and her father was solemnly regarding the bite on his left leg. The things teeth had torn right through the denim and into his leg. The wound was bleeding sluggishly and turning red around the edges. Pidge was already crying. 

He pulled the back hammer on his pistol. There were two bullets left in it. He smiled sadly, didn’t look up at her.

“Close your eyes, Katie.”

All her life she’d been praised for her maturity. How adult she acted, how smart she was, how she was wise beyond her years. But in that moment she was horribly aware of just how young she was. She was only a child, only a teenage girl who didn’t want to see her father die.

She closed her eyes. 

The bang that issued from the gun was bone jarring, but the soft thump of a body slumping to the ground after was deafening. She was sobbing now, and when she dared to open her eyes she looked at her mother, not her father. 

The woman, however, stared at the corpse of her husband, unable to take her eyes off. Slowly, she reached out and picked up the pistol. Pidge thought they were going to get up and leave, but her mother didn’t move, just held the gun in her lap and stared.

“Mom?” Pidge gasped out. She wanted to reach over, she wanted her mother to hold her, but there was something about the look on her mother’s face that kept her from moving. 

Slowly, her mother looked at her. Her eyes were almost as blank as the corpses they sat among. 

“Go find your brother, Katie.”

“Wha-”

_ Bang. _

Pidge clapped her hand over her mouth to hold in her involuntary scream as her mother slumped over onto the concrete. 

She had no idea how long she sat there, crying until she knew she was dehydrated. Then she sat there longer.

_ Go find your brother. _

Pidge crawled out from behind the dumpster.

She turned in the direction of her home town and began to walk. For the first time she lost track of the days, she had no idea how long it took her to get there. All she knew was that when she returned to the familiar streets it was raining, she was soaked through and shivering, and had no idea what to do. 

She barely hesitated when she found herself in front of her old high school. It would be dry inside, and it was the last place she had felt safe in. She made for the front office, thinking maybe there would be a jacket in the lost and found she could wear. 

But the cardboard box behind the front desk was empty and she slunk off to find a room she could huddle in. Her footsteps echoed. Everything was empty and dead, and so was she.

“Who’s there?”

The voice came from behind her. She hadn’t heard anyone else in the building, but she probably wouldn’t have cared if she did. Slowly, she turned to face whoever it was who had snuck up on her. 

The blue eyes widened.

“Pidge?”

She knew that voice. 

“Pidge, holy shit!” Lance swooped in, scooped her up in his arms and clung to her like a leech, babbling words she couldn’t keep up with. She brought her arms up, hugged him back. He was warm. She murmured his name, he squeezed her tighter.

“Where did you go, we went to your house and it was empty, what happened to you?”

Pidge fastened her arms around him like an iron vice, buried her face into his shirt, and didn’t answer. 


End file.
